


The Boy Who Drew Wolves

by dr_girlfriend



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Style, Fluff, Full Shift Werewolves, Happy Ending, How They Met, Kid Fic, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 15:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12135003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_girlfriend/pseuds/dr_girlfriend
Summary: "Once upon a time,” Stiles began, and Thomas sighed happily, resting his cheek in the hollow of Stiles’ shoulder.  “There was a gangly, clumsy, freckle-faced young boy, and a beautiful, majestic wolf —”“You mean, there was a beautiful, brilliant, amber-eyed boy, and a half-starved, mangy-looking wolf,” a voice interrupted.  “It looks like I made it just in time, huh?” Derek said with a conspiratorial smirk at Thomas.  “Gotta make sure you tell it right.”“Yeah, Daddy!” Thomas parroted.  “Tell itright!”“Okay, okay,” Stiles sighed, settling his arm across Thomas with his hand resting on his husband’s waist, thumb drawing an absent-minded little circle.  “Once upon a time, there was a probably-going-to-grow-into-his-looks-just-fine young boy, and a very lonely wolf…”





	The Boy Who Drew Wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverNoteXIII](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverNoteXIII/gifts).



> Thanks, as always, to the lovely eeyore9990 for the beta!

This is an AU based on the Japanese fairy tale [The Boy Who Drew Cats](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Boy_Who_Drew_Cats).

* * *

“Wuh yuh tuh mffph tuh swowy?” Thomas asked, his voice garbled around the buzzing of his Spider-Man toothbrush.

Stiles snorted.  “Maybe say it again when you’re done brushing, buddy?” 

Thomas nodded solemnly, his amber eyes wide above his foamy mouth, and Stiles couldn’t help reaching out, running a hand through his unruly black hair.  He was so serious at times, so much like Derek that it sent a pang through Stiles’ heart.

Thomas dutifully brushed until his toothbrush stopped buzzing, and then stepped onto his little step stool to rinse his mouth out in the sink, wobbling only a little bit as Stiles watched carefully and tamped down on the urge to steady him.

“Will you tell me the story?” he asked again, once he had rinsed away all the toothpaste and dried his mouth with the hand towel Stiles held out for him.

Stiles smiled, picking him up and blowing a raspberry into his soft belly as Thomas squirmed and giggled, before easily tucking him under one arm to cart him to bed.

“Now, which story would you be wanting?” Stiles teased.  “Goldilocks the Housebreaker and the Three Very Tolerant Bears?  Snow White the Warrior and the Seven Valiant Little People?”

“No!”  Thomas was still giggling as Stiles dropped him on his bed with a bounce.  “ _Your_ story!”

“Ah!”  Stiles pulled aside the quilt, covered in a pattern of stars and moons and planets, to let Thomas burrow in before settling beside him.  “Well, I have a lot of stories…”

“Daddy,” Thomas protested, his chubby hand patting Stiles’ cheek in protest.  “You know what I mean!  The story of you and Papa!”

“Oh, _that_ one.”  Stiles snuggled in, letting Thomas nestle under his arm.  “Well, that _is_ a good one.” 

“It’s the _best_ one,” Thomas said stoutly, and Stiles gave him a little squeeze.

“Well, once upon a time,” Stiles began, and Thomas sighed happily, resting his cheek in the hollow of Stiles’ shoulder.  “There was a gangly, clumsy, freckle-faced young boy, and a beautiful, majestic wolf —”

“You mean, there was a beautiful, brilliant, amber-eyed boy, and a half-starved, mangy-looking wolf,” a voice from the doorway interrupted.

“Papa!” Thomas squealed, and then there was a considerable amount of shuffling and rustling as Derek settled into the bed too, squeezing between the bed and the wall on the other side of Thomas, making sure he was cuddled up tight between them.

“Laurel went down okay?” Stiles asked in an undertone, and Derek nodded. 

“Spat up all over my shirt first so I had to change, but it looks like I made it just in time, huh?” Derek said with a conspiratorial smirk at Thomas.  “Gotta make sure you tell it right.”

“Yeah, Daddy!” Thomas parroted.  “Tell it _right!”_

“Okay, okay,” Stiles sighed, settling his arm across Thomas with his hand resting on his husband’s waist, thumb drawing an absent-minded little circle.  “Once upon a time, there was a probably-going-to-grow-into-his-looks-just-fine young boy, and a very lonely wolf…”

* * *

Stiles threw his backpack over his shoulder, looking around to make sure no one was watching, before sneaking out the side door of the school — the one with the alarm that had been broken for as long as Stiles had been at the middle school.  He walked across the soccer field, scuffing his sneakers in the wet grass just to hear them squeak, and then hopped over the crumpled section of chain link fence and into the tree line.

He couldn’t help feeling a little pang of guilt — his dad had told him over and over again to stay out of the forest — but it wasn’t enough to stop him.  Something about the tall trees and the absolute quiet of the forest spoke to Stiles — made his jittery body and chaotic thoughts quiet and calm.  Plus, out here, he could be sure that no one would find out, that no one would see…

He made his way to a clearing he had discovered just the other week.  It was the perfect spot, sheltered by trees on all sides but sun-dappled in the middle, with a burbling little stream nearby.  Stiles settled down on his belly in the soft grass, pulling out his sketchbook.  His tongue poked out the side of his mouth as he concentrated, making the first line, swift and sure.

In every other aspect of his life, Stiles was awkward — clumsy and hesitant and unable to control his own limbs.  He flailed and tripped as his body seemed to move despite his intentions, he babbled and stuttered when his thoughts moved faster than his lips could manage.  Here, though, Stiles was as different from that person as he could be. 

The forest whispered around him, seeming to urge him on, as a strange, tingly sort of sensation crept over him.  Stiles felt like it was flowing into him from the ground, from the soft earth and the roots of the trees.  Stiles was only a conductor as the power of the forest expressed itself in the elegant lines and shapes and shadows that emerged on his paper. 

Stiles never knew what he was going to end up drawing — that’s what made it so risky.  He seemed to fall into a trance, and today was no different.  When he was next aware, he looked down at his paper, at the fluffy white dandelion, swaying gently in the breeze.  Stiles smiled.  He blew on the paper and the dandelion seeds scattered, flying off the paper and into the breeze, as real as any other living thing in the forest.  And that’s when someone — some _thing_ — sneezed.

Stiles lurched to his feet, the sketchbook forgotten on the ground.  There, only a few feet away, was a massive, black wolf, eyes burning an unearthly blue, shoulders hunched as if ready to spring.  Stiles felt a chill pass over him, his heart pattering wildly as his breath hitched.  Dad had _told_ him not to go into the forest, had warned him, and now Stiles was going to get _eaten_.

He backed away, his eyes locked on the wolf’s eerie blue gaze, and then all of a sudden he was tumbling backwards, falling, and —

* * *

“And then Daddy fell on his _butt!”_ Thomas crowed happily, and Stiles couldn’t help smiling.  It was always Thomas’ favorite part.

 _“Again_ with the butts,” Derek murmured in a long-suffering tone, even though Stiles knew that he secretly found Thomas’ obsession with butts, underpants, and basically anything poop-adjacent to be _hilarious_.  Predictably, Thomas giggled again. 

“Papa said _butts_ too,” he announced with glee.

 _“Anyway,”_ Stiles said, smothering his own laughter.  “Splash! went Daddy into the creek, and he was wet and cold and shivering and sure he was going to be eaten, as the big bad wolf got closer and closer, and then…”

* * *

Stiles shivered in cold and fear, hand searching desperately in the bed of the creek for some kind of rock to use as a weapon, but finding only mud and soggy leaves.  The wolf stalked closer, mouth gaping to show enormous teeth, and then...a rough tongue licked up Stiles’ cheek.

“Uh.”  Stiles stared, water soaking through his jeans and numbing his fingers, as the wolf danced back a step, yipping playfully, and then nudged Stiles with his muzzle, slathering another lick across his cheek.

“You...are you...hi?” Stiles finally managed. 

The wolf yipped again, bounding backwards and then forwards, before doing a little shimmy.

“You’re friendly, huh?”  Stiles said disbelievingly, half wondering if he had hit his head on a rock and was hallucinating.

The wolf woofed reassuringly as Stiles reached out a tentative hand, dripping with water, and placed it gingerly on the wolf’s head.  The wolf stood patiently for a long minute, letting himself be petted, before he carefully took Stiles’ sleeve between his teeth and pulled.

“All right, I’m going, I’m going,” Stiles complained, hitching his soggy jeans up around his waist as they threatened to slither right off his bony hips.  “It’s not like it was _my_ idea to jump into the creek to begin with.”

And Stiles had no idea that wolves could roll their eyes, but apparently they could, because this particular wolf had attitude to spare.

The wolf led Stiles back into the center of the clearing, herding him into a patch of sunlight until Stiles flopped down on the grass, weak with relief and still feeling a little shaky.  He closed his eyes, letting his breath out in a long, shuddery sigh.  When he opened them again, the wolf was standing there, Stiles’ sketchbook carefully held between his teeth by the loop of the spiral.

“Oh.  Thanks.”  Stiles took the sketchbook in his hands, self-conscious now.  “Did you — were you watching me draw?”  Nobody, not even Scott or his dad, knew Stiles’ secret — that the things he drew sometimes came to life.

As if in answer, the wolf bounded away, returning with Stiles’ pencil delicately balanced in its ferocious teeth.  It dropped the pencil at Stiles’ side, and then settled down, looking at Stiles expectantly.

“Oh.  Okay.”  Stiles lowered himself to his belly again, immediately feeling more relaxed as the ground seemed to welcome him into its embrace.  “I’m still practicing, but…”

* * *

Before Stiles knew it the sun was low in the sky.  The wolf’s quiet presence seemed to increase the power of Stiles’ drawing, the time flying by effortlessly as sketch after sketch unfurled beneath his pencil.

“Whoa,” Stiles said, squinting up at the sky as he pulled the rose he had drawn off the page and held it out for the wolf to sniff.  He pricked his finger on a thorn and dropped the rose with a curse, sucking his finger while the wolf nosed at him in concern.

“It’s fine, just a scratch,” he said, showing the wolf his finger.  “Ew,” he said as the wolf licked up the drop of blood that welled up from the pad of his fingertip.  “Vampire.”

The wolf judged him with his eyebrows, and Stiles smiled back.  “Anyway,” Stiles said.  “I gotta go, dad will be home from the afternoon shift and I gotta make dinner and get some laundry done.”  He looked at the wolf consideringly.  “Dad’s not a big fan of dogs, but I could try to sneak you in, maybe…”

The wolf backed away, growling a bit.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles said quickly.  “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna wolfnap you.  I just thought you might want a warm place to sleep.  It probably gets cold out here, doesn’t it?” 

The wolf whined a bit, but kept his distance.

“Hey.”  Stiles looked down at the sketchbook.  “I’ve never tried this before, but…”

He sat cross-legged on the ground, focusing his thoughts on that surge of force that seemed to flow right through him as he set the pencil to paper.  “Mom used to go through phases, y’know?  First it was baking, and then it was gardening, and then she tried metalwork for awhile, that one was pretty awesome.”

The wolf had crept closer as Stiles spoke, and now he curled around Stiles, his tail thumping the ground as Stiles leaned back against his side.  The wolf laid his head on his front paws and watched as Stiles sketched the familiar pattern.  “So there was this crochet stage, and she made me this afghan.  It was kinda ugly, although I would never have told her that, but it was really warm and comfy.  Dad —”  Stiles’ voice wavered a little.  “Dad put it away after she died, but I remember everything about it, and I wonder…”

Stiles put the sketchbook down on the ground.  “This will be so cool if it works,” he said to himself.  He looked down at the drawing.  It showed just a corner of the blanket, but gave the impression that the rest was rumpled underneath.  Stiles grabbed the corner, and pulled —

“Whoa!” he said, falling backwards as the blanket unfurled from the paper.  After a moment the wolf helped as well, delicately grasping the edge of the blanket in his teeth and pulling as more and more came free, until the whole thing was laying out on the forest floor.

“That is so _weird_ ,” Stiles said, his mind boggling a little as he sat on the ground, holding the blanket up to his cheek.  “It smells the same and everything.  I wonder if it’s gone from our closet, or if it’s still there and this is another one?  I’ll have to check when I go home.” 

He stood up, packing his sketchbook and pencils away.  “All right, Wolf.  I gotta go now, but I hope you’re here next time I come back.  Maybe with more practice I can draw you a nice, juicy steak.”

He held up his hand in a half-wave, before feeling foolish and dropping it.  He started to walk away, stopping as the wolf yipped. 

He turned around.  The wolf whined, nudging the blanket towards Stiles with its nose.

“Nah, that’s for you,” Stiles explained.  “To keep you warm.” 

The wolf furrowed his brow, looking up at Stiles. 

“I mean, if you don’t want it,” Stiles started, but the wolf seemed to make up his mind, jumping on the blanket and circling a few times before settling down with a happy sigh.

Stiles smiled.  “Sleep well, Wolf.  See ya later, I hope.”

* * *

[FOUR YEARS LATER]

Stiles was settled easily into his familiar spot, his back braced against Wolf’s side.  He was taller now, his shoulders broader, but the wolf was bigger too.  His head came almost to the center of Stiles’ chest when they were both standing.  The skittish, half-starved wolf Stiles had first met was nothing but a memory.  Wolf’s body was thick with muscle now, his coat full and gleaming from the regular brushings Stiles gave it.  Even more changed was his personality — he seemed content and even playful at times, and only turned wary when something else in the forest seemed to draw his attention.

“So, then that douchebag Jackson says, ‘Yeah, Stilinski, there’s a groove in the shape of your ass on that bench that needs filling,’” Stiles complained, taking satisfaction in Wolf’s angry growl.  “I know, right?  I don’t know why I let Scott talk me into playing lacrosse in the first place.  Like, yes please, pile a little _more_ humiliation on my head?”

Wolf growled again with a bit of a whine in it, and Stiles nudged him with his shoulder.  “I’m just being dramatic, it’s not that bad.  And maybe I still suck at lacrosse, but check _this_ out.”

Stiles put the final touches on the shading and then stood up.  He tore the page off his sketchpad. He held it up, letting the wind take it.  It floated gently away, bending and folding, and then suddenly in its place stood a buck, antlers spread at least six feet wide, startled eyes locked on Wolf before it pivoted and darted away into the trees with a flash of white tail.

Wolf leapt to his feet, instinctively giving chase.

“Not so fast, mister.” 

Wolf skidded to a halt, almost tumbling over his own front feet. 

“What you do on your own time is your business, but I’m not bringing forth life just to have you mow it down a second later,” Stiles said, the argument well-worn and familiar since the first time Stiles had drawn a bunny only to have Wolf instinctively chomp down on its neck a second later.  Stiles hadn’t stopped gagging until Wolf took the bunny corpse off deep into the forest and returned without it.  “I’ll draw you another steak if you’re hungry.” 

Wolf whined, and Stiles sat down cross-legged, giving Wolf an affectionate ear-rubbing before picking up his pencil again.  “All right, I’ll make it a cheeseburger.  You have weird taste for a wild animal, y’know that?”

Wolf yipped his agreement but curled up around Stiles again, thumping his tail in anticipation.

“Anyway,” Stiles said, picking up his conversation where he had left off as he drew.  “It’s senior year and lacrosse season is almost over.  I won’t have to deal with Jackson at all after I graduate.”  This time Wolf’s whine was plaintive, and Stiles felt his stomach drop. 

“I know, I know.  We won’t talk about that.”  He bit his tongue for a long moment, but couldn’t help adding, “It’s only four years, y’know?  And I’ll come home summers, and every weekend I can.  And it’s not like I _want_ to go, but it’s a full ride at a great school, and a forensics program that’s just what I need if I want to —”

Wolf leapt to his feet, walking a few paces away and then sitting down with his back conspicuously turned to Stiles.

“Okay.  I know we’ve been over all this before.  Don’t pout, please?  You know you’re my best friend, right?  I still — I love you no matter where I am, and I’m not gonna forget about you just because I’m away at college, okay?”

With a reluctant huff, Wolf turned back towards Stiles, creeping closer.

Stiles pulled the page off his sketchbook, crumpling it up into a ball.  He set it on the ground and then blew on it, watching as the ball of paper shimmered and then turned into a steaming cheeseburger, bun and all.

“Whereas you probably just love me for the cheeseburgers, huh?” he joked.  Wolf looked completely offended, baring his teeth at Stiles and nudging him with a heavy paw before lifting his nose as if he were going to turn down the cheeseburger.

“Okay,” Stiles relented.  “I know that isn’t true.  You love me because I’m awesome.  Now eat.”

The wolf yipped his agreement and then chomped up the cheeseburger in a few bites, licking his chops in satisfaction.

“Did you even taste it?” Stiles snorted.  “Anyway, that was just an appetizer.  Look what I brought.”  He unzipped his backpack, letting Wolf stick his head inside.  “And yeah, I could have tried to draw ’em, but my marshmallows always end up looking like pillows, which are NOT tasty.  Anyway, my dad’s working a double tonight.”  Stiles walked over to the little firepit he had built in the clearing a few years back, checking that the wood he had stacked there last time was still dry.  “How about a cookout?”

* * *

Hours later, Stiles and Wolf sat heaped together, bellies full and eyes sleepily watching the dying flames. 

“I better go,” Stiles said, yawning widely.  “I don’t trust myself to wake up before dad gets home in the morning.”  He stood up and stretched with a groan, before carefully kicking dirt over the last of the flames.  He wasn’t sure if it was past experience or simply his natural instincts, but Wolf always seemed leery of the fire.  “See ya later, big guy.”

Stiles walked home, content to wander through the forest in the moonlight, his steps sure after long practice finding his way home in the dark.  He knew that Wolf followed him until he stepped out of the treeline and into his neighborhood, and he turned to wave, watching the bright blue eyes flash in the dark before he turned and headed towards his house.

* * *

A long, mournful howl woke Stiles up from a dead sleep and had him shooting to his feet before he was even fully conscious.  He shoved his bare feet into his sneakers and grabbed his red hoodie, shrugging it on as he stumbled down the stairs.

He drove the Jeep in top gear, blowing through stop signs, and god help him if his Dad or one of his deputies tried to pull him over, because Stiles wasn’t stopping for _anything_.

That howl had struck icy panic deep into Stiles’ heart.  It hadn’t been a plea for help, or even a howl of anger.  It had been a howl of complete and utter _despair_.

It was close to a full moon, bright enough to light Stiles’ path as he ditched the Jeep and ran through the forest.  He knew just where to go, as if his heart was pulling him in the right direction, and the forest seemed to clear a path for him, the ground even and straight, not a single branch or root in his path.

As he got closer to the clearing he heard whimpering, and as much as it pained him to hear, at least he knew that Wolf was still alive.  He heard voices too, and forced himself to move more slowly and silently.

He crept up to the edge of the clearing, a lump gathering in his throat at the scene in front of him.

Wolf was lying on his side, looking awful.  His ribs heaved with short, panting breaths.  A shiny metal wire was looped around his neck at the end of a long stick, like a heavier-duty version of what dogcatchers used to keep from getting bitten.

A wiry old man held the stick solidly in both hands, but Wolf didn’t even seem to be trying to get up.  He whined, front paws twitching, as a bit of foam dribbled from the side of his mouth.  A blonde-haired woman crouched in front of him, looking him in the eye.

“Pathetic,” she said, standing up.  She kicked Wolf hard in the side, and he yelped but barely moved.

Stiles clenched his hands at his side, forcing himself not to run forward.  Christ, but he was stupid.  He hadn’t even thought to bring his sketchbook.  He was _helpless_.

“You used too much of that wolfsbane gas,” the older man said, his voice low and gravelly.  “We’ll barely get any sense out of him now.”

“Don’t worry.”  The woman had what looked like a baton at her side, and as Stiles watched in helpless fury she pressed a button on the side.  A buzzing sound filled the clearing, the tip of the baton — no, the _cattle prod_ , Stiles realized — glowing with a blue electrical current.  “I know just how to make this one talk.  Don’t I, Derek, sweetie?”

She advanced on Wolf again.  Stiles felt around at his feet, looking for a rock.  Maybe he could hit her from behind, grab the cattle prod or something.  The man was bordering on elderly, maybe if it was a fairer fight Stiles could take him.

 _“Shift,”_ the woman was ordering, and when Wolf did nothing she pressed the prod hard into his side, smiling as he whimpered and jerked as the current passed through him.

“Huh,” the old man said.  “With that much juice, normally he’d be shifted by now, whether he wanted or not.  And all this time, we never heard anything about a survivor.  Maybe he’s stuck this way.”

Stiles bit hard on the inside of his cheek.  He had no idea what they were talking about, but he didn’t really care.  All he wanted was to get Wolf away from them.  There was a ring of stones surrounding the firepit, any one of them might be heavy enough to use as a weapon.  Stiles dropped to his hands and knees and started to crawl forward.

“Scan him,” the old man commanded.  The woman stepped back, turning toward a duffel bag on the ground.  Stiles froze, cursing his choice of red hoodie, but fortunately she didn’t look in his direction, just pulled something from the bag and turned back towards Wolf.

“Hold him tight,” she warned.

“I got ‘em, Kate,” the old man snapped irritably.

The woman — Kate — ran whatever she had in her hand over Wolf’s body, stopping as it made a beep and scanning back until the beep turned into a whine. 

Stiles crept forward.  The fire pit was only a few feet ahead.  He crawled towards it, reaching out as the woman pulled a knife from her belt. 

Stiles reached for a stone, but cringed as Kate dug the knife into Wolf’s side and Wolf yelped in pain.  Instead of grasping the stone, Stiles’ fingers dug into the barely-warm embers of the fire.  He looked down in shock, rubbing the soot between his fingers.

The idea came to him just as Kate crowed in triumph, holding up a shiny piece of metal for the old man to see.  “Silver arrowhead,” she said.  “I told you I got one of ‘em as it was trying to slink away.”

The old man nodded.  “Zap him again,” he grunted. “He’ll shift now that it’s out.” 

Stiles hated himself for being so calculating, but he waited until they pressed the prod against Wolf’s side again, using the cover of his yelp and their distraction to grab a handful of mostly-burnt sticks from the fire, scrabbling backwards toward the treeline.

He reached the first tree and couldn’t help it — he turned his head to look, and froze in surprise.  At the end of the metal rod, wire still wrapped tight around his neck — there, instead of Wolf, was a man.  A very handsome, naked man, with thick eyebrows, just like Wolf.  The man bared his teeth and he had fangs just like Wolf, and his eyes glowed blue just like Wolf’s did, and suddenly a whole lot of things made sense to Stiles.  He had been so _dumb_.

“Are you the last of your pack?” the woman was asking.  “Did anyone else survive the fire?”

_The fire._

Like a series of dominoes falling in his mind, it all came together. Derek.  The Hale house fire.  No survivors.  Except apparently there was one, the last of his pack.  A werewolf. _Stiles’_ werewolf, goddammit, and he’d be damned if he let these assholes hurt him anymore than they already had.

Stiles pulled in a deep breath.  He toed out of his sneakers, letting his bare feet sink deep into the grass.  Instead of letting the power of the forest flow through him, this time he _pulled_ , and felt it coursing through him more strongly than ever before, amplified by his rage and determination and love for Wolf until it swirled and roiled inside him, an almost ungovernable force of nature.  Then he grasped the burnt stick in his sweaty hand, faced the tree, and started to draw.

He drew swiftly in thick black strokes, sharp lines and graceful arcs appearing on the tree bark under his hand, larger shapes than he had ever drawn before, written on the forest itself and humming with its power.  He moved swiftly from one tree to the next, barely noticing as each creature slipped free of its tree, slowly advancing on the clearing, slinking forward from the shadows.

He heard the buzz of the cattle prod again, and this time instead of the wolf’s yelp, it was a man’s scream, and Stiles wheeled around, the burned stick finally crumbling to soot in his hand, after lasting far longer than it ever reasonably should have.

Stiles stepped forward and the man’s eyes met his, and widened, as the five large wolves abandoned all stealth and sprang forward as if suddenly unleashed.  Kate and the other man seemed to notice them at the last moment, but it did them no good — Kate had barely drawn her knife before the first wolf was on her, forearm grasped in its massive jaw.  The older man lunged for the duffel bag but another wolf sprang on his back, flattening him to the ground as its teeth closed around his neck.

Stiles had to look away from the sound of the wolves’ snarls and the awful tearing and crunching sounds.  He ran towards Wolf — towards _Derek_ — pushing the loop until it loosened enough to slide from his neck, the strange sizzling scar it had made healing almost as soon as he was free.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, and Derek nodded. 

“Holy fuck.”  Stiles gave into to his impulse and lunged forward, clasping Derek tight in his arms.  Derek nuzzled into Stiles’ neck, whining in a way that was so familiar that suddenly it didn’t seem to matter what shape he took, he was still Wolf, and he was still _Stiles’_.  “I was so fucking _scared_ ,” Stiles breathed, and Derek held him tighter, seeming to gather strength with every passing moment.

“Can you talk?”  Stiles pulled back, suddenly intensely curious as to what Derek might say.  After all, he hadn’t said a word to those two — whatever they were — even after they had made him shift back to human. 

Derek furrowed those familiar eyebrows, nodding his head slowly.  “It’s been awhile,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft and mild.  “But I remember everything.”

As much as Stiles knew he was a man now, it was still kind of surreal to hear Wolf talk.  Still, he drank in the sight of him.  His beautiful eyes, now faded back to the same hazel-green that Wolf’s were when they weren’t lit up, his strong, hairy chest, and —

“Whoa.  _Dude._  You’re, like, _super_ naked.”

Stiles cast his eyes to the side, pulling his hoodie off and holding it out at arm’s length.  Crap, could werewolves smell boners?  And all that time he had been talking to Wolf, had he understood everything Stiles had been saying?  It seemed that he had, in his own wolfish way, and that meant that Derek had had a front row seat to Stiles’ bisexual awakening.

“Ohmygod.”  Stiles buried his face in his hands.  “I told you _everything_.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, and Stiles didn’t know what he expected when he raised his head, but it wasn’t the beautiful, sunshiny smile spreading across Derek’s face.  “Can I buy you dinner sometime and actually tell you stuff back?”

And maybe Stiles’ laughter had a bit of a hysterical edge to it, but that was more than understandable given the night he’d had.  “Yeah, good luck with that, big guy,” he said, jumping to his feet and offering Derek a hand up as well.  “I’ve heard it’s pretty hard to get a word in edgewise around me.”

Derek leaned in, and for a moment, Stiles was half expecting a wolfish lick, but instead Derek pressed a soft, warm kiss to his dirt- and tear-smeared cheek.  “I’ll take my chances.”

Derek stood up, tying the hoodie around his waist, although he didn’t seem the least self-conscious one way or another.  Stiles turned on the flashlight on his phone to light the path a little more.

“What do you think happened to the wolves?” Stiles asked, carefully averting his eyes from the two puddles of blood in the grass.  The bodies had been either consumed whole or dragged off somewhere else, and Stiles wondered if they would ever be found.  “Do you think they’re in the woods?”

“I don’t think so,” Derek said.  He put his warm palm over Stiles’ hand on his phone, raising it up.  The beam of the flashlight fell across the trees, each one decorated with a charcoal-black outline of a wolf, just as Stiles had drawn them, except for the red splashed around their muzzles and clawed feet.  “I think they served their purpose.”

* * *

“So the wolves Daddy drew chased the bad hunters away,” Stiles finished in his heavily-edited-for-little-ears version of the story.  “And then they returned to the trees, waiting, in case they’re needed again to protect someone in the forest.”

Derek, who had been listening silently the whole time with his eyes soft and warm on Stiles’ face, shifted that warm gaze to Thomas.  “And so if you or Laurel are ever scared, or lonely, you know just what to do, right?”

Thomas nodded solemnly.  “Arooooooooo!”  His howl was high and wavering, and Stiles had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing even as Derek nodded proudly.

“That’s exactly right,” Derek said, with a gentle nuzzle into Thomas’ cheek.  “All you have to do is howl, and Daddy and Papa will come running.”

“Okay.”  Thomas’ eyes were drooping, every blink getting slower. 

“Good night, little cub,” Stiles said, dropping a kiss on Thomas’ forehead and slowly easing his way off the bed.

“Good night, little cub,” Derek repeated, placing a second kiss on Thomas’ forehead, right as his eyes dropped shut.

Stiles offered Derek a hand as Derek carefully extracted himself from the other side of the bed, trying not to jostle Thomas awake again.

When Derek made it off the bed fully Stiles wound an arm around him, placing a kiss right at the crook of Derek’s neck, making him rumble happily. 

“Are you ready for bed too?” Stiles asked with a wicked smile.

“I definitely am,” Derek purred back, placing a kiss of his own behind Stiles’ ear, right in the spot that always made him shiver.

“Papa?” a soft little voice piped up from the bed.  Derek dropped his head back, sighing. 

“Yes, little cub?”

“Did you poop in the woods that whole time you were a wolf?  And if you did, how did you wipe your butt?”

Stiles couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him, and it only got worse when he looked at Derek’s baffled face.

“That’s a story for another time,” Stiles finally managed to say through his snickering.  “For now, it’s time for all little wolves to go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Thomas said sleepily, and a moment later he was gently snoring.

“Great,” Derek grumbled.  “Now _I’m_ gonna have to field that one.”

“Hey, I fielded ‘why doesn’t Laurel have a penis’ _and_ ‘what happens when we die’,” Stiles whispered indignantly.  “It’s definitely your turn.”  He shut the door to Thomas’ room gently behind him, and then softly opened the door to Laurel’s room.

He stood over her crib for a long moment, Derek plastered close against his back, watching her sleep.  He tried to commit to memory her tiny little baby hands, and her chubby little baby cheeks.  It went so fast, and soon she’d be walking and talking just like Thomas, and then maybe he could talk Derek into another.  Derek came from a big family, after all, and their house, rebuilt on Hale land in the middle of the Preserve, had plenty of room.

“C’mon, Little Red,” Derek rumbled, drawing Stiles backwards out of Laurel’s room and shutting the door gently.  “Big bad wolf’s gonna eat you all up.”

“Oh my god, you did _not_ just say that,” Stiles laughed, dragging Derek toward their bedroom, pulling Derek’s shirt over his head as they went.  “That might just have been the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.  Besides, I only had that red hoodie for like a month, and _mysteriously_ , I never got it back after that night.”

“It smelled like you,” Derek said.

“Aw,” Stiles said.  “Even after all this time, you can still make my heart melt.  I really _am_ living in a fairy tale.”  And his voice might have sounded sarcastic out of habit, but he knew that Derek could hear the truth of it in his heartbeat.

“We both are,” Derek agreed, pulling Stiles’ shirt off in return.  “Now come here and get your happy ending,” he said, with a waggle of his brows.

Stiles was still laughing as Derek tossed him onto the bed, and then joined him there.

[And they lived happily ever after.]


End file.
